


Turning water into beer

by fandomnumbergenerator



Series: Jurassic Times [1]
Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Backstory, Constantine is a boundary pushing asshole, Gaz is doomed, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 20:58:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4073647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomnumbergenerator/pseuds/fandomnumbergenerator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set back in the Mucous Membrane days. John needs Gaz's help with a little Sumerian sex magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning water into beer

“Gaz, I need your help with something.” Gaz was assuming John meant a ride somewhere, or maybe to borrow the back seat of his car for a, uh, private meeting, but when John lead him into the rehearsal space, the floor was chalked with elaborate designs and there were stinky smoking tallow candles everywhere.

“Can’t, um, Annie help you with this?”

John smiled wickedly, “She doesn’t have the right bits for this one, mate.”

Gaz was feeling blurry and stoned and he really couldn’t make heads or tails of that, so he didn’t say anything.

John stopped outside the circle, and started stripping off his clothes. Leather jacket, boots, T shirt, skin-tight jeans. All peeled off and piled up. Gaz knew he shouldn’t be staring. Lots of magic required being naked, right? (He hadn’t actually been doing all the reading John had been assigning him.) But also John’s body was kind of mesmerizing, covered in burns and scars and bruises and tattoos. But poised, like a boxer, or a dancer, coiled power sliding under his skin.

Then John caught him looking, and Gaz looked away too quickly. “What are you waiting for, mate? Strip down.” This was really spinning out of Gaz’s control pretty quickly.

“John, what are we doing?”

“Sumerian sex magic. It’s OK, though. I’m going to be doing the actual magic. And, don’t worry, I’ll be the one taking it.” He winked.

Gaz was openly gaping now, trying to put together a coherent protest. John had a certain predatory grace when he was on the prowl, but Gaz had never had the full force of that attention focused on him. It was intoxicating. And scary as fuck.

Then John was looking at him sternly, saying, “Gaz, you keep saying you want to be a fucking mage, but then you’re too scared to actually fucking do anything. I came to you for help, because I trust you, but any bloke would do. Maybe I should go find someone else,” and he started pulling on his jeans again, doing a little shimmy to keep from pinching his balls when zipped the fly.

Gaz swallowed a couple times trying to get his throat to be less dry. “No, I’ll do it. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

John gave him a thousand watt smile, “That’s more like it. Take off your clothes, and leave them outside the circle. Then lie down with your head facing east.”

Gaz stripped off his clothes and his body somehow looked simultaneously skinnier and softer than John’s. But despite the fact that they were apparently about to fuck, John wasn’t really looking at him. He was repositioning candles and amber bottles and what looked like a bucket of muddy water, and moving his lips silently, probably running through the incantation.

Gaz had no fucking clue which direction was east. Was that something mages were supposed to just intuitively know? But there was a sort of stick figure drawn in chalk and he figured that was where he was supposed to go. So he lay down. The cement floor was cold. And hard. He was probably going to have bruises on all those soft skinny parts of his shoulders and back and ass.

And then John was crouching over him chanting in, presumably, Sumerian, and daubing him with oil. It smelled like jasmine and old churches, and sort of tingled. Gaz closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, opening himself up to the magic.

Then John started rubbing the balm on his cock, which suddenly got very interested in what was going on. And with his eyes closed, everything seemed almost normal for a moment. It was actually not the first hand job he’s gotten in the rehearsal space, though usually there was less chanting. John’s technique was brusque and efficient. And when he stopped it was to roll a weirdly meaty smelling condom on to Gaz.

And then John was pushing fingerfulls of the ointment into his own ass and climbing on top of him, holding Gaz’s cock steady so he could lower himself onto it. Gaz gasped at the sudden intensity of it, but John never broke his chanting, though his voice was sounding strained. And then John started moving, his chanting getting louder and louder until Gaz could feel it vibrating through his body with a sort of electric thrumming. And then John yelled one more phrase and threw his head back and yelled. A strange inhuman sound. It was actually kind of terrifying, and Gaz was not a hundred percent sure he was going to be able to to keep up his end of the bargain, no matter how willing his flesh had seemed earlier.

But then John was laughing, not crazily, but musically, and when he looked down at Gaz his eyes were wide and golden, the eyes of a god. Or a demon.

The gold-eyed thing was looking down at Gaz with a kind of saintly beneficence, accepting his offering. It was also, it seemed, having a lot of fun in John’s body. More fun, in fact, than John ever seemed to.

It dipped John’s hand in the muddy bucket, and then trailed his fingers across Gaz’s mouth. Gaz was expecting filthy water, but instead it was dark, malty, spiced beer. Then it leaned down and licked and kissed the beer off Gaz’s mouth. It was writhing and panting, making breathy mewling noises and grinding down on Gaz’s cock in a way that was unbearably hot. Gaz was not going to last much longer, and distantly worried that he was going to screw up the spell by coming too soon, except that it just went on and on like that, the thing in John’s body riding him harder and harder, apparently not ready for it to end.

And then John seemed to be struggling to the surface. He grabbed his dick, and stroked it once, twice, and then came with a groan, and the spell was broken and Gaz went tumbling after him, coming so hard he thought he was going to pass out.

And John started laughing, a little hysterically this time, and said too loudly, “Oh fuck. She did not fucking want to leave.” And then he leaned down and gave Gaz a sloppy kiss, and a, “Thanks, man, I owe you,” before grabbing the base of the condom and pulling off gingerly.

He stood up, shook out his arms and legs, cracked his knuckles and his neck and then, still naked and smeared in ointment, and his own come, he laddled the magic beer into the amber bottles, while Gaz watched in a daze. When he had all the bottles lined up, he walked out of the circle. He wiped himself off with his underwear, which he threw in a pile a empty beer cans before pulling his jeans back on.

“Oh, and don’t spill any of the spunk when you take that off. I’m going to need that too.”

And Gaz knew with sudden, hallucinatory clarity, that he was doomed. That this was just another in an escalating series of things that John wanted and that Gaz couldn’t say no to. And that one of these times, it was going to kill him, or worse.

**Author's Note:**

> I recently read a really interesting article about condoms (http://www.slate.com/articles/health_and_science/science/2015/04/latex_condoms_are_the_worst_why_after_all_these_years_don_t_we_have_a_better.html) which talks about the safety of latex vs natural membrane condoms for anal sex, and basically said that in real life situations the durability of natural membrane condoms may outweigh the theoretic risks of virus passing through the pores in the membrane. Also, they're compatible with oil based lubricants. So that's what I decided to have John use. Also, it seemed more in keeping with an ancient Sumerian ritual.
> 
> In general, I'm aiming for a plausible level of safer sex among a group of young people with poor impulse control. So, not perfect, but better than nothing.


End file.
